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Don’t wear blue

or at least a medium blue to a rehab facility. At least not when that is the color of the scrubs worn by all the personnel working there. Never mind that they are all – without exception wearing pants. Never mind that each and everyone has both the facility name and their role embroidered in large white letter on their top. My showing up today in a dark blue Columbia skirt, t-shirt and long sleeve over shirt tied at the waist caused confusion.

Correcting fellow visitors is fine as long as I point them to, or get them to the person who can give directions. But causing confusion in one of the patients at dinner had me feeling completely horrible. The reassurance by the staff member on duty that that special patient wasn’t particularly oriented to time or place with almost absent short term memory didn’t help.

It was something, the clothing color, that I noticed yesterday but didn’t take into consideration when I got dressed this morning. I was just thinking the weather was going to be nicer and I could leave my last pair of leggings for tomorrow’s flight home. Now I know better, but hopefully once my friend is out of there, I won’t ever have to worry about this particular “uniform” again.

fiber person - knitter, spinner, weaver who spent 33 years being a military officer to fund the above. And home. And family. Sewing and quilting projects are also in the stash.
After living again in Heidelberg after retiring (finally) from the U.S. Army May 2011, we moved to the US ~ Dec 2015. Something about being over 65 and access to health care. It also might have had to do with finding a buyer for our house. Allegedly this will provide me a home base in the same country as our four adult children, all of whom I adore, so that I can drive them totally insane. Considerations of time to knit down the stash…(right, and if you believe that…) and spin and .... There is now actually enough time to do a bit of consulting, editing. Even more amazing - we have only one household again. As long as everyone understands that I still, 40 years into our marriage, don't do kitchens or bathrooms. For that matter, not being a golden retriever, I don't do slippers or newspapers either.
I don’t miss either the military or full-time clinical practice. Limiting my public health/travel med/consulting and lecturing to “when I feel like it” has let me happily spend my pension cruising, stash enhancing (oops), arguing with the DH about where we are going to travel next and book buying.
Life is good!